Know Thyself
by I wish I wasn't tone-deaf
Summary: A former player, Eriol ponders about where he and sweet and innocent, Tomoyo, stand and it begins with his flirting. ONESHOT. ExT. SUPER-FLUFF.


I should be doing homework and my take-home final exams, but this is my defense mechanism against my anxiety.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own CCS  
>BY THE BY, they are TOTALLY OCC and AU.<p>

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><p>So, I haven't been flirting as much I used to.<p>

"Thanks," I smile as the waitress hands me my take-out bag.

She hands me the receipt and grins, "20% percent discount." She winks.

Tomoyo and I exit the restaurant and she nudges my side, "20% percent off? How come? Is it a student discount?" Her lips curve and she already knows why.

"Oh, come on, Tomoyo." I leave her behind and stroll down the sidewalk. She trails behind and catches up.

"Mr. Hiiragizawa putting the moves to get a discount, you sly one." She lightly punches my arm.

I roll my eyes and push my glasses on the bridge of my nose. I haven't been flirting as much because I'm too busy trying to figure out these signals. What's a punch on the arm supposed to mean? How am I supposed to tell her that I only smile so often because she's around so often?

"Well, what about you?"

She places a hand over her heart and raises a brow, "What about me?"

"What about school? What about that time that man gave you a free cup at the snack bar?"

Tomoyo isn't that type of girl, but I tease her, anyway. She's delicate but straightforward. No mind games. Unlike me. I told her she's pretty one time and she gives me a weird look. Then I turn to my cousin, Meiling, who happened to be there and tell her she's pretty, too. 'You're pretty. You, too. You're both pretty.' Smooth Eriol. Smooth.

"That?" She waves her hand to dismiss me, "He was having trouble with his cash register and what difference does it make not to pay 50 cents for a cup of hot water?"

"That's a 100% percent discount, nevertheless."

She waved her hand to dismiss me again and I get a whiff of whatever perfume she sprayed on her wrist, "Do you do that all the time?"

What? Smell you?

From her small stature, she looks up at me, "How often do you flirt?"

Oh, that. "Lately," I think and waver, "Not often."

I stop walking and she whips her head around with a puzzled look on her face. I bow and stretch my arm at the entrance of our next stop, "Why don't you try your hand at it, Miss Daidouji?"

"Oh, Eriol, I couldn't," she stares at the tall sign above and shakes her head. I know she can't, but I've only known her for two years and I wonder how far she could go. "Think about it," she goes on, "Me flirting for a bucket of chicken?" She points at the sign and it's a red neon-light fixture wired to shape a fried chicken leg. She braids her fingers together and holds it up to pseudo-plead, "Oh, gosh golly, mister. I'm afraid I don't have enough to pay for my bucket of fried bird carcasses."

I chuckle, "I know how you like your fried bird carcasses-"

"You can say that again."

"But that's not how you do it." I step toward her and gather her long, black hair over the left side of her shoulder, "This shows off your slender neck," then I pull her hands in front of her, "Now, you wring them together," and I place my thumbs on the sides of her lips, "and you pout." I smirk, let go, and step back, "Say-with your best femme-fatale-"

"I don't like femme-fatale," she interrupts, "Too conniving."

So small and delicate, but so stubborn. I roll my eyes, "That's the point."

"And it's not me."

"Fine, try damsel-in-distress." I shrug and she nods. I go on, "and say-with your best 'damsel-in-distress' act-I'm so sorry, sir, but I haven't enough money to pay-"

"I'm so sorry, sir," there she goes again, interrupting me, but I let her continue. Her pitch grows high, and she wrings her hands, "But I'm afraid I haven't enough money to pay the sufficient amount," her voice begins to waver, and she shakes her head, letting the dark strands distinguish her slender, pale neck, "I'm sorry, here," she hands me an imaginary box and I mindlessly hold my hands out to receive it. She quickly licks her lips and pouts a small, shiny pout, "I'm sorry, I'll come back another time."

With her head hung low, she turns around and starts walking away, but I pat her arm, "Tomoyo-"

She whips around, "And scene! Well, how was it?" The whole act gone, her eyes gleam with hope.

"Uh, er," I stutter, "It wasn't quite adequate."

"Well, that's alright," she shrugs, "It would have been of no use to me, anyway. I'd feel indebted if I didn't pay."

"Yeah," I trail out. Was that really Tomoyo?

"But I'll go get it." She walks past me and opens the door, "How much is it per bucket? Two-something, am I right?"

"No, no, no, I'll get it."

…

She moans with a mouthful of chicken, "I feel rich."

"You already are," I bite into my chicken leg.

"No, I mean," she places her chicken on her plate and wipes her mouth on a napkin, "Rich as in full. Full of junk food." She bites into her chicken, again, "It's so good."

Tomoyo's mother is a health nut. Something healthy, something bland; every meal, every day. Tomoyo says they indulge in hot fudge sundaes or a burger once every month, but other than that, my house is where she satisfies her junk food cravings. She says her mom is alright with it, as long as we don't eat junk food in front of her. She doesn't like to be tempted.

Tomoyo wipes her mouth again, but some oil remains and makes her lips artificially shine, "You know, Carl Jung was a psychoanalytic and he's often joined with the phrase, 'Know Thyself'," she pushed aside her plate and drank from her glass of water, "Well, I know myself pretty well. Certainly introspective. But," she ran a finger along the side of her plate, "do you really think I'd be able to flirt to get what I want?"

I hesitate to answer and drink from my soda instead. Tomoyo's petite and cute. She's creative, funny, friendly, outgoing, smart, and she's got all the right connections with the right friends. The perfect formulaic popularity. She's sugar and spice and everything nice. So, why wouldn't a guy like her? The problem is…she's a little underdeveloped. She's an old soul with the body of a twelve year-old girl. Let's make it thirteen because kids these days look older than they really are. But not in Tomoyo's case. Besides the flat-board chest and short, Bambi legs, she's got a baby face. We're seventeen so I'm guessing she's staying this way for a while until old age kicks in and knocks her shorter a few inches.

But it's not like she's a mutant and guys are oblivious to how cool she is. There are a couple of guys out there that have a crush on her. But she's oblivious to their affections. And besides, she's the type to have a lot more suitors when guys stop finding hoes and start pursuing a wife.

"I mean," She waves her hands around as if waving away her delusions, "Not like I want to flirt to get what I want-"

"I get it, I get it." I stop her before her grace and poise fade away and sputtering sets in.

"You do? You know what I'm talking about?"

I nod, "Any girl can get what she wants. A little make-up, some flattering clothes, and sweet little nothings can do the trick. You can get anything you want, Tomoyo, but think about it-I know you already have-but do you have it in you? To deceive? Besides Carl Jung said, 'A particularly beautiful woman is a source of terror. As a rule, a beautiful woman is a terrible disappointment'. Not that I'm saying you're not beautiful, but you have the potential to be quite the femme-fatale. But you are beautiful, just saying."

She smiles slightly but just enough that her eyes smile along, "You're really kind, Eriol, just saying."

Hey, pretty smooth there, Eriol. I chuckle, "What bought this up, anyways? Was it earlier? Because I was lying. To be honest, you're really good at damsel-in-distress."

"No, it's just that time of the month when I need someone to tell me I'm beautiful." She grins and winks. I blush but I don't think she notices. She goes on, "Hormonal imbalance, they call it. It makes us teenagers feel so up and down. But it's nice to have something to blame for our mood swings. Reminds me of Jung: 'The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.' Oh, wait," she lifts a finger to her chin, "That one was irrelevant."

"Although it was irrelevant, I quite like the quote." I hope she asks me more. I hope she asks me more.

"Why's that?"

Yes! "I have chemical reactions all the time. I feel chemistry often, do you?"

"When it's that time of the month, yeah." She can be indelicate at times. "My face gets really oily. It's such a burden."

"No, I mean, I-I mean," Great, now I'm stuttering, "Chemistry. Lo-love."

She smiles, "Well, sure. I love you!"

My mouth is agape and she taps my chin up, "To an extent," she says.

"Pardon?"

"Not exactly love. But I like you," She frowns, probably because my lack of response, "If you think you might be getting the wrong idea, it's probably the right idea."

My mouth starts working, "Are you flirting with me, Tomoyo? Is that a confession, I hear?"

She sighs, seemingly disheartened, "Not the best one you've ever heard. But it's mine, from me to you." She scoots her chair back, it screeches, "Phew! I feel so much better!" She grabs her coat from the back of her chair and tries to stroll past me.

I stand from my chair and block her way, "Stay."

"Eriol," her head is low and she's so short, I can't see her face. But her voice lost its sweet, perfect pitch and descends to a whisper, "I suggest you step out of the way, or," She hesitates.

"Or what, Tomoyo?"

But I don't get a vocal answer. I groan as she pushes me out of the way and storms out of my house.

Hormonal imbalances are a scary thing.

…

"Tomoyo!"

She storms out of my yard and throws her jacket on.

"Tomoyo!" Damn. I should've brought my jacket, too. Damn. Damn December.

"Tomoyo!" I try again and this time she stops. She turns around and she cradles her face in her hands.

I take her arms and speak softly this time, "Tomoyo."

Her voice cracks, "What? I stopped. I'm here. What do you want? Make it quick." She wipes her wet hands on her jacket and wipes her tears before shading her face away from me.

I wipe her tears and cup her face, "You say you're introspective but I bet you didn't know this one thing about yourself."

Her eyes are red and she sniffles as her brows furrow in confusion and yearning. I kiss her and it wasn't my first kiss, but it was simple and it was the best, just enough to know that I'm her first and last.

We break apart, but just enough that my lips are still close to hers. I whisper, "You may conquer with the sword, but you are conquered by a kiss."

She takes my hands into hers and furrows her brows, "Eriol, Eriol. That is the cheesiest thing you can and will ever say to me after we kiss."

"Can you do better?"

Another non-vocal response as she pecks me on my lips and says, "I love you."

I pull Tomoyo, hold her in bear-hug, and smother her face with kisses and each time I say, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you".

Tomoyo and I thought it was pretty sweet, but we didn't know how obscene it looked until Syaoran appeared from across the street, covering an oblivious Sakura's eyes.

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><p>Hope you liked it!<br>Gotta go work on my homework!  
>But first things first...facebook. HAHAHA.<br>And updates on my new story, it's about Syaoran recovering from his nerdy days, you know. Post Make-over story. But it's coming along _very slowly._ So, don't except it until next year...Like next fall.

But this was just to get my creative juices flowing.  
>And again, hope you liked it! Or hope it satisfied your craving for CCS fluff.<p> 


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